


Won't You Dance

by orphan_account



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bakery, Alternate Universe - Retail, Angst, Big Business as a metaphor for you guessed it, Cooking as a metaphor for you guessed it, Depression, Everyone Has Issues, Falling In Love, Food, Inspired by Music, Multi, OT3, Polyamory, Quite Literally the heaviest hand in the west, Romance, Slow Build, Slow Burn, TRUE OT3, Updates infrequently, Watch me publicly exorcise demons from working in retail, like crawling
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-27
Updated: 2017-04-16
Packaged: 2018-08-27 08:19:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8394220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Finn is a low level employee at a dead-end job working for a company he hates. He's really good at making donuts though.Rey is selling pastries on the street just to make rent. She does each month, barely.Poe is the main cook at the independent bakery across the street from Finn's big chain, and they're getting squeezed out.
Somewhere along the way you stop cooking for yourself.
(Primary JediStormPilot, minor Kyhux and Han/Leia)





	1. 1. Finn Looks out a window and makes donuts.

**Author's Note:**

> Title From Whitney Houston's "I Wanna Dance With Somebody (Who Loves Me)"

Finn looked out the window. His eyes seemed to glaze over everything, failing to get a grip on anything in his field of vision. He glossed over the middle-aged couple sitting to the left, quietly chatting and sipping their coffee in relative silence, the thirty something man in an ironic sweater typing away at his laptop. The shop decor, which felt clinical, but never quite clean, the patterned carpet floors with the appearance of constant coffee spills, the smooth wallpapered bare brick walls. Dimly lit mass produced 'artisanal' furniture brought about a certain ambience.

How did he get here? He arrived here quite young, for most of his life he could remember being here. At the same time though, he couldn't remember anything merely being present. He couldn't remember what he did, anything he said or anything he felt. But he remembered being here. He remembered being here for at least 3 consecutive birthdays but couldn't remember anything else about them. He couldn't even remember if he celebrated them.

Finn shook himself loose and emptied his mind, fortunately being here made that process almost instantaneous. He began to clean the coffee machine with a vacant mind, wiping down and cleaning away all the stains which had accrued over the last few days. Finn sighed quietly as he methodically sprayed the cleaning liquid onto the rag. He had done these enough times to know every bit of the process, the splotch on the left corner on the rag was from the time he decided to spill an out outrageous amount of bleach on the counter top after a customer had decided to smear an iced cinnamon scroll all over the counter top in a fit of rage when he had learned that they were out of large coffee cups.

He continued to wipe down the old machine, moving into the cracks and crevices where none but stray coffee drips dared tread. Finn was at times capable of thought, and did so occasionally while at work, He would work hard to avoid it though, at least when he was on company time. He thought about the water marks which stained the steaming rod of the coffee machine, about how it at first appeared harsh and damaged and old but after a while of staring at it, all its it's harshness had dulled, and any sense of disgust had been diluted over time.

 

"Hmmm" he muttered out of delight, seemingly at the satisfaction of having an almost poetic thought. It was a quiet day, with the exclusion of the customers in the shop, only a handful of other people came in. He didn't even get yelled at today, which was a pretty good sign that everything was going a-ok.

"Hey Finn" a voice came out from behind him. He turned around and saw Slip and everything just sort of came into focus. Finn immediately forgot about coffee stains and embraced him. Slip had started working at roughly around the same time that Finn did, and the two became inseparable. As Finn began to relinquish his grip, he just sort of stared at Slip. Most people would find this slightly confusing and being most people, Slip did.

 

"Something wrong Finn?"

I...

"Uh, nothing, it’s all good." Even he was surprised at how caught off guard he was in the moment.

"Two oh oh three, The soda dispenser is running out of Coke, fix it immediately"

 "Yes Captain" Slip responded almost instinctively.

 "Two one eight seven, it appears we are running out of donuts, see to it that we do not."

 "Yes Captain" Finn automatically replied and walked out towards the back to promptly address the situation re: doughnuts. The captain was a strange one, she insisted on being addressed as captain, she even had her name badge changed, which was against company policy by the way. Can you imagine walking into a Starbucks and demanding to see management and seeing:

 

 

Hi, My Name Is

**Captain Phasma**

Store Manager

 

The name badge wasn't even on the front list of the strange things the captain did, she insisted on calling everyone by their employee numbers, which sort of unnerved everyone and somehow astonishingly was not forbidden by company policy.

Finn stared at the deep fryer which was specifically made for doughnuts, fittingly named a donut fryer. He ripped open the large paper package and poured out the mostly white content into a large mixing bowl. The cement hit the metal bowl with an impact, releasing a bland, faintly cinnamon mist into the air. Taking the measuring cup from the top shelf (the instructions said 400ml, but Finn has been doing this long enough to know better) he measured out the appropriate amount of water, switching on the tap.

 "One... two... three... four- yep that's it" before quickly switching off the tap and leaving the water to the side. Not long after he searched the refrigerator and pulled out two large plain milk cartons as well as a large block wrapped in butcher paper that he had somehow managed to wrestle under his chin. Fortunately, he had managed to deposit everything on the bench without spilling a drop. One was labelled "Whole Eggs", a smaller font below read "for industrial use only", the other was simply labelled "Milk", no other notation was present on the carton.

 Finn dutifully unwrapped the large block to reveal another block, pale yellow, failing to show strain under the bright kitchen lights. Finn immediately took the large wood shaver to the side and began slicing off large shavings of sickly pale butter. He moved the shavings into another bowl, filling it to the brim and quickly re-wrapped the yellow block. Finn held the bowl to the light, eyeing the levels for a specification which was difficult to gauge. Placing the bowl back on the table gently, he opened the Milk Carton and began to pour into the butter bowl.

 "two... four... five." Closing the Milk carton, he set his sights on the Eggs. Pouring the needed amount of eggs into the water jug he had set aside earlier, the eggs made a satisfying splash into the water before settling on top of the water. Afterwards he neatly packaged everything and placed all back into the fridge. Finn grabbed the hand mixer in the cupboard and began to blend the mixture, the loud whirring took over the kitchen for a while. This was probably close to the 500th time he has made donuts in all his time at work, with a high probability of success he could do it blindfolded. He didn't however, that would be just too much. He placed the Buttermilk into the microwave and warmed it gently, allowing the butter to dissolve into the milk, stirring slowly before allowing it to cool on the kitchen top.

 Into the large mixing bowl containing the dry flour ingredients, Finn added the eggs and slowly began to mix the two together. the dough was beginning to take shape but was still dry, this was immediately solved as Finn touched the base of the butter bowl, deemed it cool enough and slowly incorporated the solution into the dough.

 Finn let out a huge breath, the tension visibly dropped from his shoulders as he placed cling film over the dough and let it proof. In the five hundred something times he's done this, it took him at least twenty before they actually came out like donuts and even then, they only 'looked' like donuts. The Captain chewed him out each time and he learned as quickly as possible just to avoid it.

People would drift in and out of the Starbucks, sometimes working for a month or less before disappearing. Finn would teach them about the donuts when he was asked to, almost all of them he never saw again. After a while, it was getting harder to recognise who he actually worked with. He never could seem to remember faces, wasn't much point anyway, they all seemed to go eventually. He could only remember Slip, and the Captain, and those were the ones that mattered really. Sometimes upper management would come by, since it was a flagship store and he could remember the faces of the men who came by, one in an all-black suit and the other in a space grey sweater over an inconspicuous white business shirt. They made a visit, a few months ago, it was difficult to make the donuts that day, his fingers made it difficult to open anything.

He stood there standing over the dough waiting for it to proof, somewhat possessed at the sight of the deep fryer. he walked closer and watched the shimmering oil, he could smell the fumes, the smell of metal infused into the oil. He stood there motionless, watching the oil, trying to catch a reflection, he couldn't recognize what stared back.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Currently playing at the Rebellion Cafe:
> 
> Lost (Season One) - Camp Cope  
>  Maps - Camp Cope (Originally By Yeah Yeah Yeahs)  
>  ______45______ - Bon Iver  
>  Shelter - Madeon & Porter Robinson  
>  Roses - The Staves  
>  Supersymmetry - Arcade Fire
> 
> This one is probably as mopey as the series is going to get, I hope. Uh, No promises on that though.


	2. 2. Rey sits on a train and makes macarons

Rey sat on the train staring out the window. An empty plastic container sat to her right, she smelled of faint mint intermingled with canister coffee. She watched the city through the small porthole of the train window across from her. She felt a something recede in her as it sunk into the distance.

~

 

She's been arguing with her landlord for two hours now. She's only eighty five percent sure about that. He communicated mainly through a small receiver that is mounted to the side of his door, occasionally opening his door when she would physically hand him the rent. The first month her rent went 'missing' when she slid it into the designated spot. Even then, he would only respond in grunts and groans, sometimes mentioning that it wasn't 'all there' (it was). They've been arguing about the cost of this months’ rent. According to her landlord, it had permanently increased due to uncontrollable circumstances.

 

"Only last month it was sixteen hundred, now you're telling me today, TODAY as in RIGHT NOW, As in TODAY, THE DAY WHICH RENT IS DUE, that it is two thousand dollars."

"Yes." A cracked voice responded from the speaker.

A moment passed as Rey attempted to collect herself.

"Why?!"

"Well, due to some particular tenants abusing the water supplies as well as rising housing fees and electrical costs, I simply don't have a choice."

 

"Why don't you talk to them?"

"I can't tell them how to live, but I do have to adapt to it"

"You just said that you didn't have a choice!"

"Look, you don't like it, you can leave, I'm not going to stop you. If you'd like I can print out a list of apartments which are ready to move into today, it won't be any trouble, look I just did it"

 

A blank sheet of paper slid from under the door, stopping at Rey's feet.

 

_Asshole._

She buried every bit of panic, anger and resentment and cleared her throat. Over the years, it just got easier.

"Give me until the end of the day"

She walked down the hall to her apartment, questions were being raised and quickly answered.

_Time? About 10:20._

_Contents of usable ingredients?_

_Kitchen Staples, running low on eggs make note to pick more up at shops_

_Nutella, Almond meal .... That might be it._

It was sort of a lean week. _It’s always a lean week._

_Nutella Donuts? Raising time by itself takes too long._

_Crepes? Missing proper equipment and highly susceptible to time, however incredibly versatile._

_Macarons? Doable. Versatile, higher than average risk. Fancy._

_Mini chocolate cakes? Too ornate, too long, too susceptible to damage. High cost._

_Macarons it is._

By the time, she made it back to her apartment, she made a beeline for the fridge.

"Okay, eggs, eggs.... eggs!"

 

She grabbed the entire tray out and placed it onto the bench. She quickly took the sugar out and poured until she was satisfied. If you were looking to convert that into metric, her satisfaction could probably kill a small child in three bites. Moving quickly, she filled a saucepan with the sugar and a small amount of water to dissolve into. She placed it on a high heat waiting for a boil. Never one to waste a spare moment, she began cracking eggs one handed withholding the yolk, managing to do so in one smooth motion. Half of the whites went into a large mixing bowl with a large amount of almond meal and were mixed through. Halfway she added a tablespoon of vanilla extract and continued to mix until the whole substance was a sloppy white.

 

She sighed and wiped her brow with the cleanest part of her forearm, leaving a slight sweat print on her already stained sweatshirt. Rey tried to remember the last time she had a day off. It had been a frantic year to say the least, after the first month here she discovered that the job market here was effectively dead. It was however only a momentary setback. She soon discovered some old cookbooks left over in the apartment and tried some recipes. After quickly refining and boiling down the recipes to their cheapest and simplest formulations, she began selling them on the corner, setting up a small table close to the train station. Often, she made enough to squeak by on rent, some weeks were good, those days extra funds went into a box under the bed.

 

The sugar was ready, she could hear it. Sugar boils in a strange way, the violence of the bubbles would vary depending on the temperature, she guessed it at around 112 C°, she hated that she wasn’t more precise. She poured the sugar slowly into the egg whites, mixing with a beater. The stench of cooked egg whites began to overwhelm the small apartment. She slowed the sugar and continued beating until the smell lightened. After she incorporated all the sugar into the meringue mix, she mixed the meringue into the almonds and began to portion them on the neatly arranged baking paper that she managed to prepare throughout the chaos. They went into the oven.

 

It was probably, six months at that point, when she realized that she could just as easily sell her treats directly on the train. People would be hungry, tired and bored enough to be easily convinced that they needed a sugar hit right then and there. She began setting her alarm for 4AM.

 

While the biscuits were cooking she quickly whipped cream, Nutella and butter to make the filling.

As they cooled, she sat on the stool. Elbows placed firmly on the kitchen island, hands clasped together as she stared out the window.

 

She had already been out this morning, she practically emptied out the fridge over the last week and she was planning on going out this afternoon to restock. Fortunately, this morning she did a variety of warm cookies, choc chip, mint swirl, white choc raspberry. All of which used a minimal amount of ingredients. Rey took a deep breath and stilled herself. She's been up since 4 and its almost three. If they firmed in time, she could make four, just in time for all the children coming back from school. If she couldn't then she could just take the train to the city and sell to the commuters on the way back.

 

She thought it through.

 

_Get on train at five, get there at six, sell for an hour, continue to sell on the train, back at eight?_

_then to the store and I'll probably be back at nine, hour and a half to shower and clean and prepare for tomorrow._

_Which makes ten thirty?_

_Which is almost six hours of sleep, that’s..._

_That’s, fine, right?_

 

The filling didn't firm up in time, _sorry kids_.

~

 

The train went into a tunnel, plunging the carriage into a momentary state of darkness, Rey stood firm as the carriage shuddered back and forth on the tracks. She carried the large tray of macarons in one hand and a credit card reader in the other. She saved up a few months for one and managed to get one relatively cheap two months ago. Turns out businesspeople don't have a lot of change to make small cash transactions on a train relatively easy or straightforward. Granted, it was still a used one, but it was easily the youngest thing in her apartment. However, she had one and mornings became a breeze.

 

She had managed to sell through almost half of her inventory and she only just got to the city.

 

"I can do this" She quietly reassured herself. Even if you didn't need it, sometimes it’s nice enough to speak it.

 

Rey got off the train and began to walk to the platform 19, the one which would take her back home. She could probably sell the rest of them on the way back. She let herself have a small grin. Almost seven hours of sleep now. It felt like she was moving on her own, the promise of sleep overwhelming her entire body, allowing only actions which edged her closer to her mattress to occur. She felt her whole body go loose, pressure eased out of her left hand, then her right.

 

_Wait. Hang on._

 

A man is sprinting away from her, a knocked container spirals across the floor. The macaroons cracking and smashing apart as they rattled against the sides of the container and each other.

 

Oh.

"They've got my-"

 

Catalogue of the Thief:

 

Their own materials

Rey's Card Reader

Rey's Wallet

Rey's Keys

Whatever crap Rey forgot to take out of her bag.

 

Shit.

 

She started after them, weaving between columns. The thief stumbled, attempting to get around an elderly couple and that was the opening Rey needed, she tackled them to the floor and wrestled for her bag. Successful in this endeavor, she kicked them away as she checked that everything was in order.

Catalogue of Rey:

Rey's Wallet

Rey's Keys

Rey's Card Reader

Rey's Shitty Shitty bag, half torn.

 

"Hey, you okay?"

 

The first thing she saw of the figure above her was a light blue oxford shirt over navy jeans and upon looking up his closely shaved hair. She recognized him as someone she sold a few macarons to on the train ride here. He crouched down and smiled, the kind where upon sight you attempt your own, but upon comparison yours can only be recognized as a feeble imitation.

 

Everybody had gotten over whatever commotion they had all caused and were just going about their own business at this point. The thief had fled and Rey had tidied everything back into her bag. The hubbub resumed and muffled voices blanketed her ears.

 

She sat in the middle of central station, clutching her bag, looking at this stranger.

"Yeah... yeah I'm good"

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I said this one would be more cheery and I really thought it would be, but then I started writing it and, well.
> 
> I want to say next chapter will be more cheery but, yeah. Making a real effort.
> 
> Two things on the playlist this week,
> 
> Jessie Ware - Say You Love Me  
> Dustin O'Halloran - Like Crazy Soundtrack


	3. Finn buys cookies and makes a mess of himself.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is mostly about saying the wrong thing and the kindness of people who don't give you shit for it.
> 
> This took so long to write and I still don't know how well it reads but. Anyway.
> 
> Rey is a multi-scented individual sort of like Joseph but with desserts?  
> Finn's Bad With Words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of Tegan and Sara this week, Stop Desire and Dying to Know to be specific.  
> Francis and the Lights - May I Have This Dance

She picked herself up and started walking to the container of smashed macarons.

The boy hurried after her, slightly chuckling.

"Are you sure? I'm pretty sure you almost just got robbed."

"It happens" She replied flatly.

"It does? I don't really classify robbery as a frequent inconvenience. Uh - hang on"

He walks a little quicker than her and grabs the container before she has a chance. Turning to face her, he places the crate into her hands.

"It's only an inconvenience if you actually get robbed, but as you can see" she shrugged her shoulder indicating her bag, already half torn.

 

He laughed softly and looked at her, extending his hand.

"I'm Finn"

"Rey"

"I. I bought two cookies off you on the way here"

"Oh yeah, surprise guy!"

His face scrunched in anguish, while she softly chuckled.

"Huh, yeah. I just wanted to tell you they were the best cookies I've ever had in my life"

"Oh, thanks."

"Yeah..."

 

Finn looked at his feet as he shuffled slightly, eyes casting downward, searching the floor for the next thing to say.

"Look I-"

"Sorry, I have to run"

"Sure just-"

"I’m so sorry, it was nice to meet you okay?"

Rey turned as she walks back to the platform.

He's frozen in place as he watches her leave.

~

He rolled over to the other side for what had to be the hundredth time that night. He didn't want to check, but he had to know.

"Fuck it"

He picked up his phone and checked.

03:18

Wednesday, 23 October

"Fuck."

He gave up trying to stop thinking about it two hours ago.

Why was he thinking about it so much?

He gave a huff of resignation. In the silence of his darkened apartment, it was more than audible. He sat up and stared at the walls across from him. Pale unyielding white carrying nothing, his eyes glazed over the bare stretch of white.

He thought about Rey. Because if he was doing it for the entire night, why stop now?

What was it about her? Her hair was tied into a messy bun, leaving a set of stray strands hanging before her ears. Her style was relatively unkempt and honestly unimpressive, a dark brown hoodie over a light white t shirt. As unnoticed her attire was, it held something. It revealed itself as soon as Finn watched her walk into the carriage.

That was definitely, definitely it.

His eyes were face forward, sitting in a packed train stuffed to the gills with people, he had been fortunate to get a seat but he was still stuffed between someone who had decided to eat garlic, and a guy who insisted that his bag needed to sit on the seat like he did.

Seemingly out of nowhere, Finn detected the slight aroma of strawberries wafting in. Pleasant as it was, Finn made no other thought than casually making a mental note to investigate strawberry perfumes for future use. He buried himself back into his audio book, an intensive oral history of the sandwich, it was quite a controversial edition, much of it over the Reuben revisionism that plagued the early oughts. Soon after his nose began to twitch.

"Cinnamon?" he mumbled to himself, he raised his head to survey the cause of change in the olfactory landscape.

 

_Nope. Nothing._

A cute girl is serving desserts in the front of the carriage, one arm wrapped around a container, the size of a small crate pressed against her side. While it appeared unwieldy she managed to handle the whole affair with relative ease. She would ask for their order, grab it with her free hand and hand it to them whilst they paid via the card reader attached to her forearm. While impressed with the smoothness of her service, Finn paid the girl little mind as he considered downloading a supplementary volume by the same author, the Lord of the Onion Rings by B. K. K Talkin.

Once again, his brow furrowed in disbelief.

_Chocolate?_

Okay now this was strange, but she was coming to his row and he was sure he wasn't hungry so naturally he began mentally rehearsing what he needed to say.

_Hello, oh no thank you_

Too blunt?

_Oh hello-_

The feigned surprise was a bit too much

_Oh sorry, I already ate_

Too much detail

Finally, he settled on: _Oh* -pause- No thank you -a small smile but not too much-_

*As if he was so obsessed with his book that she momentarily pulled him out of a sandwich coma but instead of screaming to put him back he wakes with pleasant surprise.

The girl with the basket full of biscuits reaches his row. She asks Finns bag mindful neighbor for his order, she recites the list of macaron flavors she had already recited six times since she entered the carriage, of course at bag man's insistence. As she reaches over to hand him the biscuits, Finn can't help but smell the coffee scent that emanated from her jacket. It's too soon before long that her gaze fell upon him.

"Hi, can I get you anything?"

He immediately burst into a nervous sweat.

"Um... ah. Surprise me?"

_Why would you say that?_

Finn began to scream internally.

"Huh sure, how many... Surprises do you need?"

_She was rolling with it, God knows why. Also, why'd did she have to emphasize it like that?_

Finn desperately wanted to answer, to cut this moment off at the head, to let this moment wither back into whatever crevice that his mind seemed to pull it from.

He opened his mouth and...

....

She jumped quickly to seal the breach of nervousness that was leaking a dangerous amount of silence before it overwhelmed them all.

"Here you are" a soft napkin weighed down by two circular biscuits, one purple the other pale green is placed gently into his hands.

Finn doesn't say much but gives the best possible smile and pays, gentle thanks is exchanged on both sides and the transaction is completed. The girl is now asking garlic breath his order.

He took two mint macarons.

_Thank God._

Finn stared at the two biscuits like a spurned lover, alternating between reckless desire and a heartless disappointment.

"I don't even want you" He mumbled to himself as he picked up and examined the biscuits.  

He breathed a little and caught the taste of soft blueberries, his mouth watered slightly.

He slowly inserted the blue cookie into his mouth and immediately Finn mentally divided the time that he has had on this earth into two categories. Before he had the biscuit and the meaningless existence he would have after, an eternity chasing an irreplaceable high.

He looks at the remaining green disk with softness and firmed his grip, the train was prone to sudden stops.

Finn felt himself sink further into the bed as he recalled the events of the day, he ran his tongue over the top of his teeth, the action bringing a lingering memory of the taste. He held tightly to it until sleep finally took it from him.

~

Two days later, Finn couldn't get her out of his head.

He would sometimes just say her name, silently, just to let his mouth create the satisfactory shapes.

Finn continued to ride the train, he started taking more morning shifts so that he could see her again.

He thought about all the things he wanted to say to her. Half built hellos and greetings swallowed his entire mind. He stared out the window and thought about her, _who was she?_ This person who waltzed into his life, dropped a life changing dessert and then just left without much fanfare.

_If I cooked like that, I wouldn't be working at the fucking Starbucks. How does she do it?_ The balance, the fragrance, the slight acidity. All the questions boiled down to the simplest query Finn needed to make, _How?_

He needed to know, if he could somehow get the recipe, learn from her, then maybe, maybe he could get away, get a job somewhere else, far away from Venti's and Frapachinos and fucking John Mayer.

He was so consumed with all the mental math that he failed to notice that a scent of bubblegum had entered the carriage. Of course, he noticed when he saw her.

His lips made shapes.

He started to build his proposal

~~Hi, My Name is Finn and I love your previous work, I would like to enquire about your recipes, how do you do it, if you could respond promptly, that would be much obliged, you may reach me on St0Rm_Finn1994@hotmail.com~~

~~Regards,~~

~~Finn~~

~~Webster's dictionary defines Delicious as~~

 

~~A cookie by any other flavor would taste just as sweet, hi my name is Finn and I would love~~

 

~~I'm so tired of baking, There HAS TO BE A BETTER WAY, I'M OFFERING YOU A ONE-TIME DEAL TO PROVIDE ME WITH LESSONS, BUT WAIT THERES MORE~~

 

_She's in the next row._

Turns out he doesn't need to say a lot, there is a look of recognition that comes across her face when she arrives at his row and it evolves into a soft smile.

Once she had taken and fulfilled the orders of Finn's seatmates, he was barely prepared to sputter out a half coherent sentence, but he didn't stutter a thing, he didn't need to. She didn't say anything, instead placing two cookies, one dark hazel and the other light pink, lying gently on a napkin into his lap. She moved onto the next row.

Finn looked at the cookies, and then at their creator. Slightly puzzled he sniffed them, overwhelming his senses with flavors of chocolate and strawberry and curious scents barely detectable. He can feel the train beginning to slow down as it reaches his stop. He stands to leave and gets off the train still grasping the cookies.

He didn't immediately recognize her but soon remedied that error, her purple hoodie and washed out jeans stood out clearly in a sea of sweaters, suit jackets and whatever else was categorized as "business casual".

 

He ran after her, because what else do you do when you just spent the entire night thinking about someone and then they suddenly pop into your life in a way which seems both fortuitous and semi suspicious.

He shouted after her, slowing his jog as he approached her.

He held out the cookies, slightly cracked and broken from the pressure of his hands and presented them back to her.

Rey chuckled slightly and shook her head.

"It’s fine, you don't have to pay for them... a surprise."

"No, it’s just that, I wanted to thank you."

"Oh, it’s no problem, really."

 

Finn looked at the ground, because he had misplaced his words and he was always taught to check the last place he last saw them.

"Look... I barely know you, but I like your cookies a lot, and I all I need is to know how you do it, and I can totally pay you for your time and it'll just be one or two lessons and then I'll promise I'll never bother you again."

He managed to look at her in the eyes by the end of his hurried proposition.

She looked pensive for a second, then something within her shifted.

"Do you have a working oven and stove top?"

"Uh, yeah?"

"Okay, what's your address?"

"I mean, I live down by the-"

 

He sighed. Maybe this was a mistake.

He closed his eyes and did it anyway.

"23 Kolbear Avenue"

"Is it down by the-"

"Yeah its down by the docks"

"Okay, seven tonight, I'll bring all the ingredients, you be ready"

She had already started to walk away and Finn was still trying to figure out what exactly just happened?

Doing a mental checklist a. he just gave his address to a stranger and b. that stranger was coming by at seven that night, ostensibly to teach him baking but for all he knew, it also could have been to rob him of his cooking instruments.

She had vanished out of his line of sight by now and he was surrounded by a mess of black, navy and grey, colors blending together into an unrecognizable shade of dark. He stared at the cookies and ran his thumb over their half-shattered surfaces.

  



	4. Finn goes on a walk and makes a mistake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finn goes to a part of town he's never been before and orders a drink.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been listening to a lot of musicals lately. Namely Waitress which is magnificent, touching and beautiful. If you ever get a chance to see it, do. Its a wonderful thing. Its also one of the biggest influences on this project, somehow it was influencing this thing before I ever thought of this thing. I saw it last month and thought that "this is it, this is what I want my thing to be".

Finn leaned against the kitchen table and looked across the room. Past the couch, the bookshelves and the coffee table, the clock was positioned high on the wall. Five thirty. Thinking about where he would be an hour and a half from now, he didn't know how to feel about her visit. In theory, a woman who he had known about thirty minutes would be coming over to use his facilities. For cooking. How was he meant to feel? Fortunate? Taken advantaged of? Scared? It wasn't breaking and entering if you let the person in. What if she stole something? Stole what though? he looked around the apartment and found little of value.

 

~

 

He closed the door behind him and tugged twice on the handle, a quirk he hoped would develop into a habit. A maroon beanie rested snugly on his head as he walked to the lift. He played with the buttons, smoothing his thumb around the edges, over and over. He grabbed the other side of his coat, he could never get this as quickly as he should, his fingers fumbling to push the plastic through the holes. He had to go for a walk, it was either that or stare at the clock and figuring out how to clean that weird stain off the couch.  _ She wouldn't notice that. Would she? _

 

A slight chill greeted him as he opened the door and stumbled onto the street. The sun was still up, summer had diluted the time and five thirty didn't quite mean what it used to. The street was empty, like it usually was now, Finn tucked his fists into the folds of his coat and put his head down.

 

He picked and direction and began to walk,  _ who was this girl? What did she want? _ He wasn't being paranoid, at least he didn't think so. People don't just come into your life, a girl like that doesn't just come into your life. A cook like that doesn't just come into your life. You maybe bump into them at a party, learn a little, enough to be impressed. You never eat anything they had a hand in, you smile, laugh politely and politely wish they would serve you something fancy. You don't get that wish, you never see them again. they certainly don't come over to your shitty little apartment and bake something.  _ What did she want? _

 

He was on a street he didn't quite recognize. Shops were still open, or at least on the verge of closing. He must have kept going straight on the corner he usually turned at. It wasn't exactly like he was trying to stick to the same places but he didn't exactly put his mind to trying new things. His new year's resolution was to try and do more new things.  _ Why did he keep making new year's resolutions anyway? _

 

He found himself on a street on the way out of the city. For the first time in a while he looked up and watched around him. A row of trees lined the road on the right side, to the left, cafe and cute kitschy stores were sandwiched between residential buildings. Finn checked his phone, six. He should probably go back home and clean up, finally get that stain off the couch. He immediately winced as he remembered how it got there. 

 

Instead he found himself walking into one of the cafes, nestled in the basement of a tiny apartment block, carried by the vague scent of cinnamon rolls. He opened the door, the door chime faintly announcing his arrival. He was met with the overwhelming scent of coffee intermingled with the cinnamon which leaked from under the door. The cafe was empty. the walls were untreated wood, its unvarnished brightness flooded the cafe. Colorful plastic chairs were strewn around the cafe with a large picnic table off to the side. Finn looked to his feet and was greeted by bare, rough textured concrete. Either this place was looking for the aesthetic of a half-renovated house or it was furnished on a six-year old's pocket change. Knowing this city, it was a little of both.

 

Looking in front of him he saw a man behind the counter, polishing glasses. He wore a tight-fitting Henley shirt splattered with stains and Finn could barely see a half apron tied around his waist. when he noticed Finn, his smile grew wide.

"Hello, can I help you?"

"Hi, erm, are you guys open?"

Finn threw his thumb back towards the door as if to reference the door’s opening hours as evidence for his claim.

 

"Yeah, I guess we are." He put the glass down and threw the towel across his shoulder and with both hands braced against the counter.

"What can I get you?"

The barista watched as Finn scoured the menu, which was written neatly in chalk, on a blackboard which hung above the counter.

"I'll take a mudslide?"

"Sure, coming right up"

 

The man got to work, grabbing the glass and a bottle of chocolate sauce he began to coat the sides with the sauce. as soon as that was done he began to steam some milk. At once Finn seemed to truly notice the man, his hair was curled and matted, a mess frankly. His face looked gruff, he hadn't shaved in a couple of days as the stubble was making itself known. His gruffness at once disappeared as he noticed Finn staring, morphing into a smile.

"You can take a seat y'know, it's alright" as he motioned towards the seats around the cafe.

Finn stumbled backwards into one of the seats near the window, it was best probably just to look out the window. He checked his phone.  _ Fuck. _

 

He gathered himself quickly and moved back toward the counter. The barista was just finishing up, dispensing a swirl of whipped cream on the top of the glass. He bit the side of his mouth.

"Uh, sorry could I get that in a to go cup?"

Evidently this knocked the barista a little off balance.

"Uh. Yeah sure, no problem"

He took a knife and cut the whipped cream off the top of the drink, placing it on the saucer on which the glass would have rested had Finn stayed. The barista then poured the rest of the drink into a travel cup.

 

"I'm sorry, I should have checked the time"

The barista then quickly made another fluffy whipped cream mountain on top of the cup.

"It's just that I lost track of the time and I’m meant to be meet-"

"Look. It's okay" His voice was commanding but tilted in kindness.

He gently placed a candied cherry on the top of the cream and looked at Finn. A gentle smirk grew as if to say "See? it's fine"

Finn checked his phone and almost threw his money on the counter before grabbing his drink and running out the door, screaming "Thank you!" on the way. The barista yelled after him about his change but it was too late, Finn was already out the door.

  
  



	5. Rey (and Finn) make Tarts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rey arrives on Finn's doorstep to cook, but not everything goes exactly to plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy, I'm sorry I took so long. I started school and then everything went so fast, then a month passed by and I figured it was easier to just abandon the project. But I once I reminded myself about it, it was easier than I remembered but it did end up taking a week longer than I thought, so I think I'll update fortnightly at the minimum, Ideally I'll do a chapter a month, but we'll see how it goes.
> 
> If you were reading in that time, Thank you! It means a lot to be read period, and even more so for it to be a continuous action.
> 
> This chapter goes back to the more angsty tone of the first, so theres that. I write Rey a little more anxious and nervous and little less kind than her SW counterpart. Lots of reasons for that, namely that I find it more interesting and i like writing those kinds of characters. She will eventually soften up but y'know, you are warned yet again.
> 
> Loads of Music in the interlude:  
> Distant Solar Systems - Julien Baker  
> Through The Roses - Future Island  
> All This and Heaven Too - Florence + The Machine  
> Liability - Lorde  
> Lover's Spit - Broken Social Scene  
> La Lune - Billie Marten  
> Someone To Stay - Vancover Sleep Choir  
> Bloom - Hand Habits  
> The Wisp Sings - Winter Aid

Six forty-nine pm. She carried a large Tupperware container which necessitated the use of both arms. It had been filled to the brim with mixtures of flour, flavorings and florals. Rey squished the container against her body as her other hand fumbled for her pocket, attempting to untangle the layers of fabric which kept her phone out of reach. Finally, she pulled it out along with a mess of cables, several old tissues and spare coins, all of which chimed loudly as they hit the pavement. She sighed and began to pick everything up, stuffing it back into her jean pocket.

Upon looking at her phone she hurried her pace, at her current stride it would take another fifteen minutes to get to Finn’s apartment. She didn’t even know what his building looked like, this was quickly becoming more and more of a problem.

 

_Who was he?_ Perhaps that this is the worst time to begin asking questions, her currently running to an apartment complex of a stranger's. To cook at. There was always time to call it, she could go home. She was late anyway. She started counting off how many days her savings would take her. It could be almost possible to pay for the repairs and this month’s rent at the same time.

_No_ , this was necessary. Perhaps if she told herself that, it would make the whole thing easier. Just once, maybe twice to make up the money needed for repairs and then it’ll all be forgotten.

The wind had begun to pick up and the chill threatened to overtake her. She wore a thin faded t-shirt over black jeans, none of which were doing a particularly good job at keeping her warm. She should go home. She might catch a cold. A cold? while half the utilities don’t work in her apartment? She might as well leave now. _Turn around. This is not worth it._

 

Her legs keep moving though. She checks her phone again. Five minutes to go. There was still time to leave. If she left now, maybe she could come up with something that didn't need an oven or a stove top. It would be a challenge. It would be…  almost impossible. Even if she found a recipe, the additional time it would take to gather the ingredients. _No_. She needed tools, these are the tools at hand. _Is this the right street?_ She looked up at the apartment building standing before her. It was nothing to write about but it was certainly better than what she had.

 

She wandered to the front door and looked for his name. _Finn. Finn. Finn. ah._ Her finger tracked and landed on his name and then hovered above the button. Last chance. She pulled her finger back from the intercom, and looked at the little black sphere. It poked out of the silver contraption which hung on the wall. She set her tub on the floor and forced her eyes shut.

 

_What was she doing? He could be perfectly fine. He said yes, right? I mean he would be perfectly in the right to say no_. She was pacing about, walking in small circles, one hand on her hip, the other alternating between her face and her mouth.

_What if he’s fine? He’s probably fine. But if he’s not. That means I just wasted all this time._

_He’s probably fine. But._

 

She looked at her tub. The oven in her apartment was broken. That was a fact. It would cost at least a day’s work to pay off, that was another fact. Without that oven, the chances of producing anything…

She turned back to face the intercom.

_I need you to be good._

_Be good._

_Please._

Her eyes were clamped shut as she buzzed the black button with Finn’s name next to it.

bzz bzz

 

_Nothing._

_Please be good._

She pressed it again.

bzz bzz

Nothing.

 

Her eyes opened and she felt herself collapse into a heavy sigh. She picked the tub back up and made her way back to the pathway. _You knew this would happen, trusting people, and now you don’t even have an oven. Great job._

She made it halfway down the street before she heard screaming from behind her.

“WAIT WAIT WAIT”

 

It was him, a cup in his hand, running towards her. She waited for him to get close enough that he didn’t have to scream anymore. A mortified look wore his face.

“I’m so so sorry. I just went on a walk but then I …  Look I’m really sorry about that. Here.”

He offered her the cup. She looked down at the cup and then back at him, her eyebrows twisted.

She couldn’t help but be amused at this person before her. He broke a sweat running up to her and a droplet was about to roll over his eyelid. He didn’t swipe it away though, he just held out the cup.

“Um, I’m fine.” And held out her hand to indicate she was indeed, fine.  

His eyes were downcast. She looked at the cup, staring down into the murky brown liquid which it contained. He took another swig of the beverage. After a moment, he opened his eyes and let out a breath, smoke poured out of his mouth and they both stared as it whisked away into nothing. They stood transfixed, as if they had never seen fog before. His eyes fell back upon her.

“I'm really sorry.”

She felt herself wounded.

“It's okay.“  

“Come on” He motioned back towards the apartment building.

 

His apartment was overwhelmingly sparse. A small television opposite a sofa which seated two, and a waist high cupboard were the only things that she could see. Little hung on the walls and what did were mostly utilities. The kitchen was part of the living room, it comprised of a small oven and stove across from a kitchen island with a mess of cabinets and drawers.

 

“Clean place”

“Thanks, but there isn't much to get dirty. Half the time I'm at work anyway.”

_He seems nice enough, amicable and his apartment doesn't look Too Much like a serial killer’s. Also, he holds down a consistent job, which isn’t the worst sign._

 

“I shouldn’t have asked you to do this, I don’t know why I did. Um.” She threw her eyes downward and scratched her head.

“Hey, you don’t have to explain. I’m happy to have you. You make really good cookies.” He looked back at her this time, a soft smile, damaged by his late arrival by her guess.

“Really?”

“Yeah, just teach me to make whatever you want to make, that was the deal, right?”

“I guess.”

 

They had looked away at each other. Rey decided to focus on the walls of the apartment, they felt cavernous, she pulled back, eyes now on the floor. Where else could they possibly go?

She looked back at him.

“Um, do you have any water?”

“Oh sure” As he went off in search of a glass she put the large container on the countertop.

“Here okay?”

“Yeah sure, just put it anywhere.”

She could hear him rummage in cabinets, _how did he not know where his own glasses were? Is this his own house?_ Where was she, really?

 

He appeared next to her, holding a clear glass of water.

“Thank you”, as she took the glass from Finn’s hands.

“You don’t have to keep standing y’know?” And he motioned towards the chair at the counter.

She sat down and took a large pull from the glass.

“I feel like I owe you an explanation…”

“I don’t really need one.”

“Never mind, lets cook.”

She opened the container and began to transfer its contents onto the countertop. Finn said little, and Rey found no little reason to break the silence. As she moved items it became clear that she had packed an entire kitchen into a plastic box. A small kitchen scale and even mixing bowls found themselves on the table. The box had been unpacked and the pair looked at the neatly arranged mess in front of them.

 

“What exactly are you making?”

“Apple tarts.”

“Huh. okay how do we start?”

“Do you know how to make pastry?”

“I mean sort of? I make it from a prepared bag at work”

“Okay let's start with that. First, flour.”

 

She tipped half the bag into the mixing bowl, eyed it sideways then paused in thought. Rey watched the bowl intently while the white powder floated from the bowl.

“Uh. Rey?”

“Yep, got it.”

She shook the bag twice more into the bowl. After staring at it for a palpable moment, she deemed it acceptable and packed away the flour.

 

“Why even bring the scales if you don’t use them?”

_Boy likes to talk._

“Sometimes I get it wrong”

“How would you know?”

“I get this feeling sometimes, and it's there so I can make sure the feeling is right”

“That’s a strange way to cook.”

“Is it?”

“You assume you’re right unless you have a feeling that you aren't.”

 

She looked up to face him.

“I’ve made this recipe a hundred times, have you?”

Finn blushed and looked away, seeking to look at anything other than the grinning creature before him.

“Right, are you willing to listen now?” Her tone had taken on a matronly quality. As far as she was concerned, in that moment she invented pastry and was the only qualified speaker on its construction.

“Yes” his face still warm from the chastisement.

“Yes, what?”

“Oh, come on.”

“Just say it, do you want to learn or not?”  

“You do know who’s place this is right?” he chuckled silently and crossed his arms.

On hearing this Rey felt the force drain out of her and all authority that she had evaporated.

“So, you’ll be wanting to use this amount of salt, roughly a pinch for 250 grams, since we’re using roughly five hundred, you’ll want roughly around this amount.” She sprinkled the salt into the flour and began mixing it by hand.

She felt him staring at her, but continued to mix all the same.

 

“Next is butter, ratio is one to one with flour, don’t melt it but do leave it out to soften.”

Rey reached for the butter, peeled away the foil as you would a flower and cut it in half, and again, and again, and again. She dumped the cubes into the mixing bowl and started to work the mixture with her hands. The whole process was strenuous as it always was, her heaving sighs and quietly cursing the dough.

 

A voice emerged from above.

“I can help y’know. I mean if you want me to?”

She pulled her clay covered fingers from the bowl, and looked up to face him yet again.

No, it's okay. You have to work it really well or else it will taste powdery after you bake it.

She continued to force the dough together until it had been appropriately convinced to stay together, and so it was wrapped in cling film and placed into the fridge.

 

“And that's how you make puff pastry. Well that's half of how to make to make pastry, we’ll check up on it in 20 minutes.”

“Awesome.” The boy was positively pleased with himself, all the disappointment she saw outside was unseen. Kid was grinning to himself and anyone else who would notice.

“Right, now let's do the apples, you know how to peel an apple right?” She pushed the bowl of apples towards him sort as you would a child.

“Sure” he happily began peeling.

_This guy sure has a demeanor, doesn't he?_

 

“Get the skin off however you can but when you get to the flesh, make sure you try and keep it as long as you can.” She mimed peeling an invisible apple, in case Finn had in fact overestimated his own fruit peeling experience.

 

She watched him go through the first few apples and having been satisfied (but not entirely) with his output, she looked once more around the apartment. She found little that she had not discovered on her first pass.

 

She thought of her own room, of the old walls browned by smoke from previous tenants, the undisguisable scent of tobacco which lived in strange spots, the bathroom, the wardrobe. While she did attempt to live tidily, she held habits, which left untended, fostered into full bloom. Old library books laid idle on the floor; spread open to specific pages. She wouldn’t need to return them for another month, hopefully the time needed to read them would present itself eventually. She looked to the stovetop, empty save for a small pot which upon further inspection contained a stew, a quick whiff revealed its identity as minestrone.

 

“So, what are we going to do with these apple strips?” She looked back at Finn, he had peeled all the apples, there weren't that many anyway. But they were well done, each of the apples were reduced to two maybe three peels, each the length of a tightly wound scroll.

 

She placed the apple peels into a small bowl and doused it in a liquid she kept in a miniature bottle, before wrapping the top in cling film and placing into the fridge. At the same she took out the dough and threw it onto the table. The loud slam took Finn by surprise and he jumped awake. After she had rolled the dough flat, she divided it equally and nestled them into the pits of the tin molds.

 

“Okay that was how you make pastry.” She promptly threw the entire tray into the oven. She turned back at Finn to see if he was still listening. She went back to the fridge and pulled the apples out. She poured the liquid into a small bowl and placed a few sheets of gelatin into the liquid.

 

“See you can let gelatin carry flavor if you force it to.”

“Flavor?”

She held the bowl out to him, close to his face.

“Rose?”

“Rose?”

“Okay what now?”

 

“Cream” she said dreamily. With that she took a saucepan and dumped a container of thickened cream into it. She set it on the stove and let it warm. Into it she emptied a small bag of sugar and a few drops of vanilla extract. Noticeably she added another squeeze of the rosewater and let the whole concoction come to the boil. Not long after she placed the bloomed gelatin into the pot and stirred it consistently.

 

Finn came around to stand with her at the stove. He was so close. She could smell him, he carried a scent of faint sweat and the chocolate that he spilled on his sleeve was still strong. She looked to his face, it was not entirely unwelcome, his eyes soft, lips pursed into a frown. He was looking into the white broth. It struck her that the eyes, the owner of those eyes, those lips, that she was in his home. That she, although it wasn’t directly felt, was but a guest here. That she had invited herself here. Where was she exactly?

 

She did something strange. She asked him a question.

“Would you like to try it?”

He was awakened, his eyes went back to her, then down to the pot and without looking back.

“Sure” She took another spoon, a clean one and dipped it into the white soup and handed it to him. He blew on it slightly and then the silver disappeared into his mouth. He released a contented sigh. He put the spoon into the sink and looked back at her.

 

“It’s nice isn’t it”

“It is”

“But it’s not enough”

“Isn’t it?”

“No, we’re not done yet.”

  
  


Rey opened the oven and pulled out the tray with the pastry. She rested it on the table. Slowly she began picking at the tarts, lifting them gently from their molds.

She took the pot and the large ladle and began spooning generously into the cooling tarts. Once she had finished she took the apple trips and sliced them lengthways into long thin strips and coiled them on top of the cream. It was a tedious process and took them the better part of an hour. Once they were done and Rey had corrected the imperfections, they were placed into the fridge and left to chill until the morning.

And that was it, they were done.

 

After they had cleaned up, Rey was at a loss of what to do. She had cooked something in his home. The tarts sat in a container in the refrigerator, tucked between the lettuce and the eggs. What was left to do now but leave? But, how could she? She spoke to the man sporadically, technically she just cooked while he watched, and he was, at times a great help. She borrowed his kitchen for a couple of hours. _Who does this?_ It was getting late.

 

She wondered what to do next. She wondered what just happened. She thought about it ceaselessly. She thought about it as she stood awkwardly with the rest of her materials, tucked neatly into the large container. She thought about it as she said goodbye, and that she would come back in the morning, if that was okay by him. She thought about it while he said yes that was fine and he would be awake by 6, so he would not be woken up. She thought about it while she walked home, bright spots burned into the pavement by the lights above. She thought about it as the train window blurred the world from which she was passing, the container clasped tight to her chest. She thought about it as she walked to her apartment door and fumbled for the correct key. It was the last thing in her mind before she collapsed on the bed. _What just happened? What did I just do?_

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading. I don't have a beta so any and all feedback is appreciated.


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